Lost In a Good Bookshop
by yallaintright
Summary: Courfeyrac looks at the bookshop one last time. "I'll miss the winter. A world of fragile things..." he proclaims, taking a deep breath, "Look for me in the white forest, hiding - " "Oh God," Combeferre groans, "please stop." (Combeferre/Courfeyrac, background E/R)
1. Chapter 1

Courfeyrac is going to die and he is not going to do it in a remotely brave fashion.

Technically, he wouldn't even be above begging, but getting close enough to Enjolras for the blonde to hear him would probably be a guaranteed way to have certain parts of his anatomy cut off. And he is ever so fond of those parts of his anatomy. The _world_ is ever so fond of those parts of his anatomy. He does it for the world, he really does.

Which is why he is running away from Enjolras as fast as he can and thinking about hiding in the first place he can find that Enjolras wouldn't think to look (it's not like he's a coward, he isn't, but he _is_ French and therefore cannot be blamed for subscribing to the theory that the very best form of attack is running away and hiding under your bed - not that he would hide under his actual bed, as Enjolras would certainly think to look there).

Still, he'd like to believe there is at least _some_ strength in knowing your weaknesses and running away from them squealing like a little girl.

Which is why when he finds himself face to face with a bookshop he breathes the loudest sigh of relief the world has ever heard and stumbles in, turning the door sign so that it displays 'closed' to the outside world and closing the door behind him. He leans against the door and waits for the hammering in his chest to quiet down and for his breath to go back to normal.

He can't even remember the last time he was inside a bookshop. It's not like he doesn't read, he does, but he just happens to value convenience and practicality in most things, and for him that meant getting a Kindle. And at least Enjolras has now gotten over most of his 'ebooks are a tool of the bourgeois to destroy independent bookstores' phase (he still generally disapproves of the concept but ever since Grantaire pointed out that ebooks were also saving the trees and his head practically exploded he's mostly kept quiet on the subject). Courfeyrac likes convenience, practicality and trees so it's really a win-win situation for him.

He's just slid down the wall to settle down on the floor - _holy fuck_, he really needs to start exercising more - when an amused voice interrupts his epic fight for breath. "Is this a robbery? I should warn you, we have no money, but we do have some Tolstoy.

"I - no, I - please - "Courfeyrac manages to gasp out from his position on the floor.

"Oh dear," the man says, not unkindly. "Should I get you a glass of water?"

"Please." Courfeyrac coughs without looking up.

The man turns to fetch Courfeyrac's glass of water but before leaving the room he doesn't resist saying 'If you're going to die, can you... er, not do it in front of the book?"

"What?" Courfeyrac gasps out.

"Think of the books, my dear," the man says, leaving the room at last and his voice trailing behind him. "Think of the books."

When Courfeyrac finally regains his ability to breath without his lungs declaring World War III on each other, he takes a look around the room at last. It is a small and overcrowded space, with haphazard floor-to-ceiling books piles and shelves after shelves filled with books covering every inch of the wall and all around him there is the delicious smell of old books and freshly brewed coffee. Courfeyrac likes it instantly.

"Here," the voice from before says and Courfeyrac, who had just gotten to his feet, jumps about two feet into the air.

"You're like half cat or something, man, I didn't even hear you come - " Whatever Courfeyrac had been about to say is lost in his throat, as he takes his first look at the guy the kind voice belonged to.

_Holy fuck_, Courfeyrac thinks. He has long brown hair in dire need of a haircut, bright blue eyes hidden behind black thick-rimmed glasses, pale plump lips and there is just a hint of stubble on his jawline. He is also wearing, of all things, a red and grey plaid sweater vest along with a freaking bowtie. He may just be the hottest hipster Courfeyrac has ever met, and Courfeyrac definitely knows his hipsters. Holy fuck, he thinks again, for good measure.

He accepts the glass of water with a lot more hand touching than is strictly necessary and drinks it slowly, mentally preparing his plan of attack here because there is just no way he's leaving without the guy's phone number.

"Hello," he says with a grin. "I'm Courfeyrac."

"Combeferre," the guy - Combeferre - says, to the unasked question. "Are we playing hide and seek or did you simply get book withdrawals?"

"Neither, I'm afraid," Courfeyrac says and considers what to tell Combeferre very carefully. It's not usually in his nature to lie (mostly because he just can't keep track of things) so he settles for the truth. And, besides, when he inevitably shows up dead in a ditch somewhere, he will he glad he has someone to testify in court as to Enjolras' motivation for the murder was, because God knows he can't expect Grantaire to do it.

"I just have these friends, Enjolras and Grantaire, and they're just one of those obnoxiously disgusting couples. You really wouldn't think of it, when you look at Enjolras because he's all untouchable statue of all that's good and bright with the world but _man_ the moment they got together it was all like completely overbearing amounts of public display of affection, you know?"

"Not at all," Combeferre replies.

"You would if you knew them," Courfeyrac says confidently. "Although I suppose it was to be expected, he never does anything halfway and relationships shouldn't be any different, right?"

"Again, not at all. But why are you running away from this Enjolras?"

"An interesting question. I suppose it all changed when the Fire Nation attacked." At Combeferre's raised eyebrow, he adds. "And by 'fire nation' I mean me and Grantaire and by 'attacked' I mean 'slept together'".

There is a very pregnant pause and Courfeyrac can guess just how hard Combeferre is trying to keep the judgement out of his voice when he asks, "You slept with your friend's boyfriend?"

"No! Well yes, but - no." Courfeyrac runs a hand through his already very messy curls and sighs. "I did. Once. We were young and stupid and drunk and it was just a one time thing. But it was before they even met each other. Hell, _I_ introduced them. So it's not as if Enjolras has anything to complain about."

"And how long have they been together now?" Combeferre asks calmly.

"About an year, I think."

"I see," Combeferre says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And in that year, it never occurred to either of you to mention this to to Enjolras?"

"Of course it did! Enjolras has always known! Kind of hard for him not to, when the first time he met Grantaire he was in my kitchen wearing nothing but his underwear."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow at this. "Then what is the problem?"

"There may have been a - that is to say there was a - er. Thing. There was a thing." Courfeyrac says defensively, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. "You know?"

"I really have no idea what you're - "

"A sextape! Alright, there was a sextape!" Later, Courfeyrac will try to very hard to believe that that sentence did not come out of his mouth in the form of a shriek.

"There is a sextape of you having sex with your friend's boyfriend?"

"Yes." Courfeyrac nods resolutely. "It was supposed to be a joke. We were drunk! We decided not to delete it afterwards because what if one of us got slightly famous and then needed to Kim Kardashianate his way to the top? You know? This is what friends are _for_."

"Yes, that makes perfect sense," Combeferre replies, looking for all the world as if he thinks Courfeyrac should be committed to a mental hospital.

"Anyway. He called me and asked me to delete it right after they got together because, you know, it'd be weird to have it lying around." At least Combeferre looks as if _that_ made sense.

"What was the problem, then?" He asks.

"I may have - er. I may have forgotten and never deleted it? And Enjolras asked to borrow my camera this weekend and he sort of ended up seeing it. And now he's going to kill me. I mean, the look on his _face_ alone when he first saw the video..." Courfeyrac shudders.

"Perhaps you could ask your friend Grantaire for help?" Combeferre asks kindly.

Courfeyrac considers this. "Well... Grantaire getting involved will surely stop Enjolras from killing me. Because then Grantaire will kill me first, that is." He sighs dramatically and then adds, "My life is _over_."

"Do you think they'll be fine? Your friends?"

"You mean with each other?" Courfeyrac snorts. "One will end up tied to things and spankings may be involved and both parts involved will assuredly have _a lot_ of fun. Hell, they'll probably fix their shit while ripping out my guts. They'll roast marshmallows over my dead rotting body."

"Well, you know what they say, a couple that roast marshmallows over a dead body together stays together." Combeferre chuckles.

"Well, at least someone is finding some humour in my eventual demise."

Combeferre leans back against the nearest bookshelf with laughter in his eyes. "You're a bit overdramatic, aren't you? You can just apologize."

Courfeyrac shakes his head. "You'll regret saying that when you have to go to the police station as the last person to ever speak to the deceased."

Combeferre toasts him with an invisible glass and with a shrug of his (admittedly, lovely) shoulders says, "So it goes."

Courfeyrac grins despite the fact that he is going to be a dead man soon. "Slaughterhouse-five reference? Neat."

Combeferre's eyes widen in surprise. "You've read Vonnegut? I didn't have you down as a guy who reads Vonnegut."

"Oi," Courfeyrac snorts, trying his best to fake offense, "I'm more than a pretty face, you know? Besides, Vonnegut is _the man_."

Combeferre grins and _goddamit_ he is pretty, "Not exactly how I'd put it, but I can't disagree with the meaning behind it." He chuckles to himself and bites his lower lip, "Pretty and with good taste in books. Pity you're going to die."

"Will you weep for me after I'm gone?" Courfeyrac asks dramatically.

"No," Combeferre says with a chuckle, "But I will inform the police of your friends' motives for killing you."

"Good man. Farewell, farewell, my friend! I smile and bid you goodbye," Courfeyrac says sadly, wiping an imaginary tear on Combeferre's cheek, "No, shed no tears! For I need them not," and here he traces a finger across Combeferre's lips, "All I need is your smile."

"Dude, you _are_ dramatic," Combeferre says, rolling his eyes and biting his lower lip to stop himself from smiling.

Courfeyrac looks at the bookshop one last time. "I'll miss the winter. A world of fragile things..." he proclaims, taking a deep breath, "Look for me in the white forest, hiding - "

"Oh God," Combeferre groans, "please stop."

"Has no one ever told you you shouldn't interrupt a dying man's last words?" Courfeyrac may pout a little, but he is very fond of his dramatics.

"No," Combeferre says, pushing him gently towards the door. "Come on, time to face your destiny."

"But I don't _want_ to." Courfeyrac whines.

Combeferre snorts at him and Courfeyrac walks towards the door but before he has time to open, Combeferre speaks again, with a teasing smile on his lips. "Just in case your friend doesn't kill you, I work tuesdays and thursdays' afternoons. Thought you should know."

It isn't a phone number and it certainly isn't a date, but Courfeyrac has worked with much less. Assuming Enjolras doesn't kill him (and that's a pretty big assumption at this point) he will most definitely be coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Enjolras somehow resists the urge to kill him. Courfeyrac suspects Grantaire may have had something to do with it and a _lot _of blowjobs and extremely kinky sex may have been involved but he'sstill in one piece, so he has no interest whatsoever in looking at it any closer.

Besides, things are finally almost back to normal. Well, apart from him still absolutely refusing to be alone in a room with Enjolras and Enjolras looking like he's about to dismember Courfeyrac anytime he as much as looks at Grantaire. And apart from his camera as well, which somehow got broken into tiny little pieces and Courfeyrac is nowhere near brave enough to ask Enjolras how it happened. When the blond makes no move to replace it, Courfeyrac can't even really blame him.

At least, all copies of the sextape from Hell have been deleted and Courfeyrac can't say he feels sorry for their loss - he never quite had the creepy facial hair for cheesy porn anyway.

Still, going through such a near-death experience has made Courfeyrac develop a new appreciation for how fleeting life is, which in turn has led to Bahorel developing a new appreciation for throwing his shoes at Courfeyrac's head. _Oh, sweet summer child_, Courfeyrac thinks sadly, _he will never know how ephemeral life can be_.

Combeferre's very fond voice, in the back of his head, tells him to stop being an overdramatic idiot.

And _oh yes_, Combeferre. Courfeyrac hadn't allowed himself to go back to the bookshop until he was sure Enjolras would allow him to live - no point in making Combeferre fall in love with him, which everyone knows was just bound to happen, if Enjolras was going to violently murder him some point down the line.

And now, two weeks later, when Enjolras has shown no intentions of ripping Courfeyrac's still-beating heart from his chest, he starts to think about what to do about Combeferre.

He's never cared about dating rules or conventions and what he wants for their first date is to take Combeferre home with him, make him a nice cup of tea and cuddle the fuck out of him under a blanket while marathoning Doctor Who, because even if Combeferre doesn't like the actual show, he will at least agree with the Doctor when he says that bowties are cool (Courfeyrac didn't use to think that bowties were cool - and then he met Combeferre).

So, Courfeyrac knows exactly what to do once Combeferre agrees to go on a date with him. He just doesn't know _how_ to get him to agree. And he's not even allowing himself to think about the fact that he'll be asking Combeferre out in a _bookshop_, where there will be countless creepy romance novels glaring at him and judging his wooing techniques. On the bright side, he supposes there's bound to be at least one copy of Twilight somewhere in there so it's not like those nasty judgemental little books have a leg to stand on when it comes to romance, considering the company they're keeping. Still, they probably already hate Courfeyrac because they're _books _and therefore think, in their bookishly entitled little minds, that they know all about plot twists and romantic gestures and Courfeyrac's sure they have already guessed he wants Combeferre to spend more time with him and less time with them. It is probably of vital importance that Combeferre is not allowed to ask the books for dating advice.

The problem isn't even that Courfeyrac isn't used to getting people to go out with him - he's perfectly aware of just how charming he can be when he wants to. It's just. _Well_. He wants it to be _special_. And special doesn't usually include going out with a guy you only met because once upon a time he slept with the Bella Swan to his best friend's Edward Cullen - and yeah, Courfeyrac may have read the books, but he was home sick with the flu and Marius had left them in his bedroom and there just was _nothing else _to do.

But Courfeyrac really isn't the kind of person who sleeps with his friend's boyfriends. Courfeyrac is a very awesome (and very humble) person. Even _Enjolras _agrees (well, not so much on the humble part, but _still_). Courfeyrac is _awesome_.

And who better to tell Combeferre that Courfeyrac is a total awesome human being than the people who hang out with him everyday and already think he's awesome? Courfeyrac reasons it's a completely bullet-proof plan.

Introducing Combeferre to his friends already, however, isn't one. It's not like Courfeyrac doesn't love his friends, he absolutely adores the little shits, but it takes everyone a little while to get used to the adorable mix of weird and lovable that they all are and Courfeyrac would rather Combeferre already had very good reasons to stick around before meeting them. So, it is obvious Combeferre must first get the amazing mind-blowing experience that it is to go out on a date with Courfeyrac.

But for that to happen, it is necessary that he says yes. And so, Courfeyrac comes up with another Plan. If you ask Enjolras, he will tell you that Courfeyrac's plans are complete bullshit. Enjolras is, objectively speaking, an idiot. Courfeyrac's plans are the stuff of _legends_.

Seriously, who else would think of getting their friends to write them dating recommendation letters? It is, Courfeyrac thinks, the perfect plan. You get recommendation letters for jobs from people you've worked with, why _shouldn't _you get recommendation letters for (romantic) relationships from people you actually do have (platonic) relationships with? It is a Great Plan.

And therefore Courfeyrac bribes, whines, blackmails, sulks, pouts and generally annoys everyone into writing him a goddam letter until all his friends have given in - and if he was another kind of person, he'd be worried about why it took Enjolras so little time to give in, but Courfeyrac likes to believe in the honesty of people and inner goodness of the human spirit. And also in the relaxing power of Grantaire's blowjobs.

He bursts into Combeferre's bookshop on a rainy Thursday afternoon (_freaking Parisian weather, it's like everyone neglected to inform it that it's suppose to be summer_), dripping water all over the hardwood floor and quickly throws his pink Hello Kitty umbrella into the umbrella stand by the door.

"Hello," Combeferre says with a soft smile. He is wearing a green bowtie this time. "I see you're still alive."

"I'm just surprised as you are, to be honest." Courfeyrac grins as he grabs a stack of letters from inside his backpack and flings it unceremoniously to the floor.

"Have you gotten lost?" Combeferre asks. "The post office is two doors down, you know."

"I've been thinking," Courfeyrac says.

"Oh dear," Combeferre replies with the easy grin that Courfeyrac already likes so much. "I have the feeling that that's how trouble usually starts."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Courfeyrac says, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and sighing rather dramatically. "I'll have you know I have come here with nothing but your best interests at heart."

"I'm sure you have," Combeferre says, and he manages to keep almost all sarcasm out of his voice. Courfeyrac appreciates the effort, he really does. "So, what _have _you been thinking about?"

"I have been thinking that you should go out with a date. With me." Courfeyrac says confidently.

The way Combeferre's face lights up at this may make some butterflies set up camp on Courfeyrac's stomach. He really, really wants to pull him down by the stupid green bowtie and kiss him senseless. But he won't. Not yet, anyway. Because he has a Plan, and plans are important. It is essential for Combeferre to understand that Courfeyrac is a perfect date and a perfect boyfriend and a perfect human being (although maybe not a very humble person). And there's no one better than his friends to tell Combeferre that, except perhaps Courfeyrac's mom, but dating etiquette really does not include asking your mother to tell boys they should date you.

"Have you?" Combeferre asks, trying to keep his voice level, but there is an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes. But I also realized that all you know about it is that I am some kind of weird person who doubles as a pornstar in his free time. So you need to be told why you should date me!"

"I see," Combeferre says, looking like he does not see at all. "And so the letters are...?"

"Recommendation letters! From friends."

"Recommendation letters," Combeferre feels the need to repeat. "You somehow felt you needed recommendation letters from your friends to get me to agree to go on a date with you?"

"Yes?" Courfeyrac asks slowly.

"Right," Combeferre says, nodding to himself. "Why wouldn't you do that, that makes perfect sense."

Courfeyrac settles the pile of letters down on the counter. "Read them?"

"Sure," Combeferre says, grabbing the letter on top of the pile. The neat writing on the envelope means it can only belongs to one person: Enjolras. Courfeyrac really would rather Combeferre had started off with someone who doesn't look like they're still one wrong word away from making a grab for a knife every damn time Courfeyrac opens his mouth.

Combeferre's eyes shoot up almost immediately after he starts reading. "You really didn't read them before giving them to me, did you?"

"No?" Courfeyrac asks with a nervous smile. "You're really not supposed to read your own recommendation letters."

Combeferre looks like he has to try very hard to fight off a smile as he hands Courfeyrac the letter. "You should probably read this out loud."

"Of course, I can do that," Courfeyrac says and tries to make his voice go all lovely and deep as he begins to read Enjolras' letter, "Citizen, do not go out with Courfeyrac. Go out with Courfeyrac and any shred of normalcy in your life will disappear. Don't even think about it." Courfeyrac gulps in terror and quickly looks over the rest of the letter, seeing bullet points and expressions like "complete idiot", "serious lack of a brain-to-mouth filter", "really low life expectancy as I am bound to kill him sooner or later" and "revolutionary fervor" and does the first thing he can think of, which is to rip the letter into tiny little pieces and shove them all inside his mouth.

He blinks innocently at Combeferre. Combeferre blinks back at him.

"Are you going to swallow that?" Combeferre asks and there's a "spit or swallow" joke in there that Courfeyrac would really love to make if his mouth wasn't stuffed with paper.

He vigorously nods his head instead.

"Right," Combeferre says, nodding to himself, "let me just go get you a glass of water to help with the digestion, then."

He leaves the room muttering something about 'black-haired idiots' and Courfeyrac seriously considers getting everyone edible paper for Christmas but when Combeferre comes back, he has already swallowed most of the paper.

"How did you even do that so fast?" Combeferre asks, handing Courfeyrac the glass of water and sounding both fascinated and horrified.

Courfeyrac shrugs and finishes the glass at a single gulp. "Guess all that time swallowing notes in highschool actually payed off."

"So," Combeferre says, matter-of-factly, "That was Enjolras."

"That was Enjolras," Courfeyrac confirms, "On the plus side, no one will also be as bad as him. Read on!"

"Courfeyrac, you really don't need to - "

"Shh," Courfeyrac shushes him, "Read on, will you?"

Combeferre picks up another envelope, this one with a surprisingly accurate caricature of Courfeyrac drawn on it - Grantaire's letter, then. Grantaire who is _still _glaring daggers at him when he feels Enjolras isn't being terrifying enough. Courfeyrac _really _should have read the letters first.

Combeferre glances at Grantaire's letter and makes an odd choking noise. "Courfeyrac," he says very patiently, "there are only three words in this letter."

"Oh?" Three words can't be too bad. "What did he say?"

"Courfeyrac isn't Enjolras," Combeferre reads and Courfeyrac hides his face in his hands.

"Read another one?" He says in a very small voice.

Combeferre sighs, grabbing another envelope. The handwriting on it is clearly Éponine's, but there is a weird lumpy shape inside it that Courfeyrac does not understand until Combeferre removes it from inside the envelope and Courfeyrac can see that it is, in fact, a USB drive.

"Well, that makes no sense," he says with a frown, "Did she write anything else?"

"Yes," Combeferre says in a choked voice and the tips of his ears go slightly pink, "Inside the envelope she wrote 'gives good head'".

How the _hell _did Éponine get a copy of the damned tape?

Courfeyrac looks at Combeferre. Combeferre looks at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac looks at the USB drive.

"Courfeyrac," Combeferre says, very slowly, "you are _not _going to eat the USB drive as well."

"But - "

"No."

"Spoilsport," Courfeyrac says with a pout, "Fine. But you're going to owe me a healthy, well-balanced meal, then."

"Just like the USB drive would have been a healthy, well-balanced meal?" Combeferre asks, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

"Judge not lest ye be judged," Courfeyrac says piously and the look on Combeferre's eyes suggests he has to refrain himself from hitting Courfeyrac with the remaining stack of letters.

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but who's next?" He says instead.

Courfeyrac considers this, before grabbing Joly's recommendation letter from the pile of envelopes and handing it to Combeferre. It isn't so much that he trusts Joly more than he trusts the rest of his friends, but, for some strange reason, it is a _very _thick envelope and Courfeyrac is reasonably sure he that he can grab it from Combeferre's hands and run as fast as he can out of the store before the letter gets too bad.

Combeferre takes the letter out of the envelope, quickly glances at it and immediately dissolves into helpless laughter. This does nothing for Courfeyrac's nerves.

"What's so funny?" He asks, dreading the answer.

Combeferre has to bite his cheek to stop laughing before answering Courfeyrac. "This isn't so much a recommendation letter as it is your entire medical history."

Courfeyrac shrugs. "Coming from Joly, that _is _a recommendation letter."

"Oh," Combeferre says, "Courfeyrac, this is all very nice, but - "

"You have to keep reading!" Courfeyrac is not above resorting to begging, "Please, _please_, keep reading?"

"I don't need to keep reading," Combeferre says calmly.

"Right," Courfeyrac nods, feeling extremely sorry for himself. "I'll just see myself out then, yeah?"

"No!" Combeferre reaches out with his right hand and grabs Courfeyrac's arm. "You don't understand. I don't need to keep reading because I already know that I want to say yes."

"Oh, but - _Why_?" Courfeyrac can't keep the tone of surprise out of his voice. "Those weren't exactly glowing recommendations."

"I didn't need glowing recommendations, you know," Combeferre says with a soft smile, "You could have just _asked _and I would've said yes."

"See, I did not know that." Courfeyrac points out, "Wait, but you still want to go on a date with me even after those letters?"

"After those letters, I want to go on a date with you even more," Combeferre says with a smile that lights up the entire bookshop.

"But they were _horrible_," Courfeyrac feels the need to point out, and maybe Enjolras was right - he does _not_ know when to shut up.

"That's it, though." Combeferre explains, "They _were _awful. But you trusted your friends enough to _not _read them before giving them to me and your friends loved you enough to go along with your ridiculous idea - "

"That was _not _a ridiculous idea," Courfeyrac interrupts indignantly.

"Yes, it was. And you know it was," Combeferre says softly.

Courfeyrac shrugs. "Did you see Enjolras letter, though? He gave you an alphabetized list as to why you shouldn't go out with me!"

"_No,_" Combeferre says, "he gave me an alphabetized _description _of who you are. I barely know you and I already know you aren't a quiet person, Courfeyrac. You're loud and you're dramatic and you're, occasionally, completely ridiculous and you're always going to be like that. Enjolras just told me what to expect. Besides, you didn't see how your he finished his letter, did you?"

"Trust me, Combeferre, I saw enough," Courfeyrac says sadly.

"I daresay you didn't. Because while Enjolras _did _enumerate what you consider to be all of your shortcomings in alphabetic order, he also mentioned that if I were _ever _to hurt you, he would come into my bookshop and set fire to all my books."

"Oh," Courfeyrac says, taken aback, "but Enjolras loves books."

"Clearly," Combeferre says softly, "he loves you more."

Courfeyrac has no idea what to say to that. "So, you're going to go out with me because my best friend apparently loves me more than he loves books?"

"I own a bookshop, he _really _couldn't have given you a higher recommendation," Combeferre says and Courfeyrac makes a mental note to never be mean to Enjolras again.

For the next twenty-four hours, at least.


	3. Chapter 3

"So," Enjolras says slowly, leaning against the doorframe leading to Courfeyrac's bedroom and eyeing the messy pile of clothes on the bed with distaste. "How _did _you get him to go out with you? I mean, it can't have been the recommendation letters. Did you bribe him, maybe?"

"_Excuse_ you," Courfeyrac says scathingly, staring helplessly at his almost empty closet. It's the greatest fucking tragedy of his entire life - he finally has his date with Combeferre but he has no idea what to wear."I am charming."

"Whoever told you that is a filthy liar," Enjolras says, gritting his teeth.

"Don't insult your boyfriend, dear," Courfeyrac says, only half-paying attention to the words coming out of his own mouth. If he doesn't figure out what to wear soon, he's going to have to ask to borrow some of Enjolras' clothes and Courfeyrac cannot live in a world where he has to borrow Enjolras' clothes, he just _can't_.

"I thought we both agreed that you weren't going to talk about my boyfriend for a while?" Enjolras snaps.

Courfeyrac should shut up. Courfeyrac really, really should shut up but he's miserable and he's tired and he has absolutely no clothes to wear and if he's going to suffer, he's going to make Enjolras suffer right along with him. Besides, if Enjolras kills him he won't have to live in a world where he has absolutely _no clothes_.

"I don't know what you're angrier about," he says instead of shutting up, stroking his chin. "The fact that I once slept with your boyfriend or the fact that I give better head than you."

"I -" Enjolras begins, but strong, tanned arms wrap themselves around his waist from behind and he lets out a sigh of contentment the moment Grantaire's chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

"You do not give better head than Enjolras," Grantaire happily informs Courfeyrac. He ducks his head to kiss Enjolras' neck and adds, for Enjolras's benefit, "And you are not going to kill him just because he forgot to delete the damned tape."

"But - " Enjolras says.

"No killing," Grantaire repeats.

Courfeyrac takes in how pathetically domestic they are, takes one good look at his bed and dives dramatically headfirst into the pile of clothes.

"Are you alright?" Grantaire asks.

"I can't even find pants," Courfeyrac says sadly. "How am I supposed to find love?"

"Yes, finding pants must really be complicated for you," Enjolras says sarcastically. "I mean, how can you possibly choose between the unbearably tight black pants _or _the unbearably tight black pants?"

"You understand my problem at last," Courfeyrac says, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Your best friend is an idiot," Grantaire tells Enjolras, and Courfeyrac props himself up on one elbow to throw an extra pair of unbearably tight black pants at his head.

"Funnily enough, I had noticed that, yes." There's a pause, and then Enjolras lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Look, if you have to try this hard for this guy to like you then maybe he isn't worth your time?"

"Oh, but he is!" Courfeyrac says excitedly, sitting up on the bed. "He's pretty and he's smart and he's _funny _and I want to impress him, only I have no idea what to wear. Help?"

"Go with the unbearably tight black pants?" Enjolras suggests and Courfeyrac makes a mental note to kill him in his sleep.

"Oh, I like that," Grantaire agrees, because he is a dirty traitor. "And also, wear a blue shirt. That ought to bring out your eyes."

"My eyes are brown," Courfeyrac says, an edge of hysteria to his voice. "Will you two stop torturing me and _help_?"

Grantaire rolls his eyes, but dutifully disentangles himself from Enjolras and crosses the room in two long strides, picking a blue button-down shirt and an unbearably tight pair of black pants from the pile of clothes on the bed and throwing them at Courfeyrac's head.

"Wear this," he says. "And be home before midnight, young man. And also wear nice underwear. I like black and tight - it's both classic and sexy, but knowing youI'll be happy as long as it isn't something pink and glittery."

"I could kiss you right now," Courfeyrac says happily.

"I could throw you out of the window right now," Enjolras says, just as happily.

"Jealousy isn't attractive, Enjolras," Courfeyrac points out. He starts to slither out of his pants, notices the bright pink boxer briefs he had been wearing and turns towards Grantaire with an unhappy frown on his face. "And what the fuck is wrong with my underwear?"

"You can't unleash the glitter on a first date," Grantaire says patiently. "That's a third date kind of thing, Courfeyrac."

"Glitter is an every date kind of thing," Courfeyrac says primly, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice because, _really_, what does Grantaire have against glitter? It's like hating puppies and rainbows. "Also, I need to borrow books."

"I know you said the guy likes books, but you can't actually spend the entire date reading a book instead of talking to him, Courfeyrac," Grantaire says patiently.

Which, wow. Why must _everyone _always question his wooing techniques? He really wants to point out that he knows perfectly well just how to behave on dates and how to woo people and Grantaire, as someone who's been on the receiving end of his wooing techniques _really _ought to know that but Enjolras is still looking serial-killery around the eyes and it's probably not worth it. Plus, whatever he does to Courfeyrac may actually mess up The Hair and Courfeyrac is not up for that.

"I don't need books for the date," he says slowly. "I need books for _after _the date."

"Are you going to try to get him to reenact your favorite '50 Shades of Grey' scenes?" Enjolras asks, sounding horrified. "Please, _please_, don't do that."

"Now, _that _definitely isn't a first date sort of thing," Courfeyrac says. "It's just - do you know the first rule of owning a bookshop?"

"You don't talk about owning a bookshop?" Grantaire asks, like the insufferable asshole he is and Courfeyrac is so, _so _very sorry he once rewarded the assholery with a blowjob and an orgasm. He wants to say he doesn't know how Enjolras does it, but considering Enjolras' own assholery they're probably made for each other.

"Ahah," Courfeyrac says dryly. "Fuck you. The first rule of owning a bookshop is that if you go home with someone and they don't have books, you don't fuck them. _And I have no books_. Do you see how big of a problem this is?"

"Why am I friends with you again?" Enjolras asks in disbelief.

Grantaire actually has the nerve to scoff at him."You have an _e-reader_."

"Which was the most terrible, stupid decision I have ever made," Courfeyrac says miserably.

"Deciding to become your roommate was the most terrible, stupid decision _I_ have ever made," Enjolras snaps, narrowing his eyes at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac blows out a kiss just to annoy him, which Enjolras ignores. "However, because I like you, I have no intentions of being home tonight. So you can do whatever disgusting thing you want with him, as long as you stay out of my bedroom."

"Fair enough," Courfeyrac agrees, because having the apartment all to himself without Enjolras and Grantaire around to make things awkward and share embarrassing drunk stories is a great idea.

"Now," Enjolras says, in his 'I am a strong independent revolutionary who don't need no government' voice that Courfeyrac can't help but obey. "You're going to put on the clothes that Grantaire picked out, then you're going to go out for your date and have a great time and you are not going to freak out about any of those things. Do you understand?"

"But - " Courfeyrac starts.

"Did I fucking stutter?" Enjolras hisses.

"No, but - " Courfeyrac tries to say.

"Shut up," Enjolras says pleasantly. "Come along Grantaire, we're going to have fabulous sex in your apartment."

Grantaire considers this. "I can live with that, yeah." He strides towards Enjolras, pulling him along by the hand, but turns back to look at Courfeyrac one last time. "Do take your leather jacket and an umbrella with you, though - it's fucking pouring out there."

"Yes, mother," Courfeyrac says obediently to Enjolras and Grantaire's retreating backs.

When he steps out of his apartment, he's never been happier to have taken Grantaire's advice. The sky is a never-ending mass of gloomy dark, clouds, heavy rain is pouring down and bouncing off the pavement and Courfeyrac can hear the distant sound of thunder.

Making his way to Combeferre's bookshop proves complicated, as the sidewalk is a never-ending puddle of water and cars keep racing by too quickly, disturbing the fast-growing pools of water on the road and sending cold, icy sheets of water straight at Courfeyrac.

It's just as well that Courfeyrac is the opposite of concerned about it. Oh, he knows objectively that he should be upset about this, that he's going to be cold and wet the rest of the day, but he's going to be seeing Combeferre very soon, and there's going to be wine and dinner and intelligent conversation and he's too excited to properly care about things like pneumonia, even though he does spare a moment to worry about the state his hair will be in when he does arrive at his destination.

He's vaguely considering ducking into the coffeehouse closest to Combeferre's bookshop so he can fix it when the sound of tiny, terrified meowing stops him dead in his tracks.

He looks curiously around the street until his eyes finally fasten on a small, completely soaked-through, brown cardboard box, half-hidden under a stack of abandoned newspapers. He approaches it apprehensively and when he crouches down to open it, three shivering kittens stare miserably up at him. They are tiny balls of grey fur and would probably be adorable if they weren't soaked wet and trembling horribly. When he reaches out a hand to touch one of the kittens, it whimpers, sounding petrified, but doesn't move out of the way. Its fur is very wet and very, _very _cold.

"Oh, fuck," Courfeyrac whispers, because cold kittens are _never _a good sign. Later he will get completely livid about this. He will rant to Enjolras and Grantaire and to anyone who will listen about how inhuman it is to leave kittens to die in the middle of a thunderstorm and how he doesn't understand how anyone could even bear to do it. But that's later, once he's dealt with the problem at hand, because right now all he can focus on is the broken whimpering coming from the litter.

"Right," he tells the kittens, unzipping his jacket, unbuttoning the first three buttons on his shirt and very carefully moving the freezing kittens one by one from inside the cold litter to his warm chest. He can't help a hiss from escaping his lips when cold paws come in contact with his skin, but resolutely grits his teeth and buttons his shirt back up.

He keeps one arm around his chest to make sure the kittens stay in place and grips his umbrella tightly with the other hand. He briefly considers what to do. There are freezing kittens against his skin. There is Combeferre waiting for a date less than five minutes away from him. Courfeyrac _really _doesn't want to cancel but he knows that he does have a strong parental instinct and he can't go out and leave potentially dying kittens alone in his apartment - and, when it comes right down to it, if Combeferre is the kind of guy who doesn't want to reschedule a date just so Courfeyrac can save an adorable trio of kittens, then maybe Courfeyrac doesn't want him in his life.

"Okay," he tells his mewling chest. "We're just going to take a quick trip to see a friend and then we're going to go home and cuddle up with each other on my bed and watch Love Actually. Okay?"

None of the kittens bother with an answer, but Courfeyrac can feel tiny claws scratching against his chest and he decides to take in as a yes, quickly making his way to the bookshop.

"Oh, hello," Combeferre says with a soft smile when Courfeyrac walks through the door, dripping water all over the floor.

"Um," Courfeyrac says, taking in how gorgeous he looks in a plaid shirt and the absence of bow tie this time. He bites his check and forces himself to make word sounds. "Would you believe me if I told you I had to reschedule our date because of family issues?"

"That depends," Combeferre says dryly. "By family issues, do you by any chance mean that you have developed breasts overnight?"

"Oi," Courfeyrac says defensively. "Some girls reach puberty later than others."

"Yes," Combeferre says. "I can understand how it'd take you longer than most girls to grow breasts. Seeing as you apparently grew three of them. And also I can hear your chest purring from here."

"Oh, fine," Courfeyrac says in defeat. "I found a litter of abandoned kittens on the street. I'm going to take them home and warm them up as best as I can before I decide what to do with them."

Combeferre's expression turns impossibly soft and he smiles tentatively at Courfeyrac. "I live upstairs," he says quietly. "You can try to warm them up here, if you'd like."

"You're not mad about our date?" Courfeyrac asks.

"What, and leave the kittens to die?" Combeferre asks, horrified. "I could never do _that_."

"Combeferre, you are a God amongst men," Courfeyrac says gratefully. Combeferre rolls his eyes, but keeps a fond smile on his face while he locks the door behind him and ushers Courfeyrac into the backroom and up a flight of stairs leading up to his apartment. He takes Courfeyrac's hand and Courfeyrac's heart thunders in his chest as Combeferre drags him through a corridor and into a living room with a comfortable-looking green couch and unstable-looking piles of books obscuring the white walls almost completely.

Combeferre motions for him to sit down and Courfeyrac does, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it off to the side. He runs his hands over the kittens' fur, which are thankfully slightly warmer.

Combeferre gasps. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Courfeyrac asks with a frown. "I'm warming up the kittens with my body heat. Get me a blanket, will you?"

"But I have a - " Combeferre starts.

"Please?" Courfeyrac begs, giving him the puppy-eyes that not even Enjolras is heartless enough to resist.

Combeferre snorts, pointing to the blanket at the end of the couch.

"I _really _like you," Courfeyrac says. He lies down on the couch, taking down the entire length of it and carefully moves the kittens to his warm belly, cautiously covering them with the warm blanket. "Should we feed them, do you think?"

"Not until we get their body temperature back up," Combeferre says softly, so as not to disturb the sleeping kittens on Courfeyrac's stomach. "I think I have some powdered kitten milk for when you get them warm again."

"I really don't know what I'd do without you," Courfeyrac sighs. "I mean, if I took them home I'm quite sure Enjolras would actually think it'd be a good idea to put them in the drying machine or something."

"What?" Combeferre gasps, in an adorably high-pitched voice that makes Courfeyrac really want to kiss him. "Your friend would try to put _cats _in _a drying machine_?"

"Yes," Courfeyrac says with a shudder. "The terrible thing is that he actually means well. Like, he'd actually think this would be a good idea to get them dry and warm."

"Oh god," Combeferre whimpers. "I worry about your friends sometimes."

Courfeyrac shrugs. "Grantaire's good for him. Most of the time, at least. And they're not allowed to have pets. Or plants. But you have nothing to worry about - I have this feeling you two will meet and decide to become platonic life husbands then and there. You have that 'Enjolras approves' look about you."

"I promise not to become your friend's platonic life husband," Combeferre says patiently.

"Thank you," Courfeyrac whispers softly. He notices Combeferre is standing up awkwardly staring at the couch and realizes he is taking up all furniture in the room specifically designed for sitting. "Um, do you want to sit down?"

"I don't want to disturb the kittens," Combeferre says calmly.

"Oh nonsense," Courfeyrac replies, propping himself up on one elbow. "Come on now, I could use a pillow. And your lap looks very pillowy. And you can pet my hair if you'd like. I've been told it's very pettable, you know?"

"I'm sure you have," Combeferre grins, sitting down on the cushion previously occupied by Courfeyrac's head and Courfeyrac leans back down to rest his head on Combeferre's leg.

"You're not petting my hair," he accuses.

Combeferre lets out a long-suffering sigh that Courfeyrac has associated as usually coming from people who are around him for prolonged periods of time, but starts playing with Courfeyrac's curls all the same. Courfeyrac feels very warm and very happy.

"So, what do you think we should call our kittens?" He asks to break the silence.

"_Our_ kittens?" Combeferre echoes, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

"Well, I'm not becoming a single parent," Courfeyrac says scathingly. "Look at what happened to Voldemort."

"Yes," Combeferre agrees. "We definitely do not want our kittens to become the next Dark Lords." He pauses to frown at Courfeyrac. "You know, this is a really terrible metaphor -"

"_Shhh_," Courfeyrac shushes. "We're talking cat names now."

"I suppose you've decided what to call them already?" Combeferre asks, running his fingernails over Courfeyrac's scalp and Courfeyrac has to try very, very hard not to purr.

"Well, first I considered Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup - " Courfeyrac begins.

"Of course," Combeferre interrupts. "Why wouldn't you name our kittens after the Powerpuff Girls?"

"Exactly!" Courfeyrac says happily. "But then I realized I didn't know if they were boy kittens or girl kittens and, anyway, they all look like indistinguishable little balls of grey fur so we'd get them confused all the time and there'd be no point."

"That makes sense," Combeferre says but from his face it's clear he thinks it doesn't make any sense at all. "So you then decided to settle on…?"

"Elvendork!" He grins. "It's unisex!"

Combeferre a chuckle and bites his lip before saying, in a helpless tone of voice, "You are _such _an idiot."

"Yes, I'm very - wait." Courfeyrac's words catch in his throat as he notices the fat, grown orange cat currently staring unblinkingly up at him from a corner of the room. "Anything you forgot to tell me?"

"That's Hermione," Combeferre says apologetically.

"Hermione is a _cat_," Courfeyrac points out.

"Yes," Combeferre smiles ruefully down at him, tucking a strand of hair behind Courfeyrac's ear. "I was going to say we could _maybe _pet her into warming up your kittens but then you took off your shirt and it started seeming like a bad idea."

"Aw," Courfeyrac gushes. "You're objectifying me. That is adorable."

Combeferre flushes – also adorably – and there's no other way, Courfeyrac is going to have to kiss him. "Lean down, will you?" Courfeyrac asks. "I have to kiss you right now and I don't want to disturb the kittens."

Combeferre does so immediately, leaning down and covering Courfeyrac's lips with his own. It's sweet and loving, only a mere brush of lips but Courfeyrac feels warmth crawling through his chest and coiling in his stomach.

He reaches a hand to hold the back of Combeferre's head, burying his hands in soft hair so he can deepen the kiss. It's lovely and oh so perfect and when Combeferre's cat hops onto the couch to meet the kittens currently on top of Courfeyrac and Combeferre pulls back, Courfeyrac doesn't resist licking his lips to memorize the lingering taste of coffee left by Combeferre's kiss.

"I think your cat likes me," he says, smiling against Combeferre's lips when he feels Hermione's paws on his stomach.

"I think _I_ like you," Combeferre confesses, fingers still buried in Courfeyrac's hair.

"Good," Courfeyrac whispers. "Now kiss me again."

Combeferre looks all too happy to oblige him.


End file.
